


lightning

by akissontitan



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Pre-Relationship, TAZ: Amnesty - Freeform, late night adventures with mothman, springtime in kepler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 14:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17448332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akissontitan/pseuds/akissontitan
Summary: “It’s a human tradition – or, I guess, a horny teens of Kepler tradition – to come to this tree to make out.”





	lightning

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for Gray!!! First time writing these characters, hope u enjoy!

Duck wishes he could say that getting a text from mothman is the weirdest part of his day, but it’s been so long since his days have been anything approaching ordinary that the blip of Indrid’s custom vibrate alarm – dot dot, stop, dash dot dash dot – is barely enough to pull him from his light dozing. He squints against the brightness of the phone screen as he reads the time, 1:11am, and then his friend’s text.

 

 **IC 💡:** meet by the lightning tree at half past?

 **IC 💡:** need 2 burn off some steam.

 

Duck can’t help but huff a giggle into his elbow when his tired mind finally parses the message. There have been a few trees in the forest that’ve had the misfortune of coming up against a lightning strike in the past, but the most distinctive had gotten itself split into three pieces, right down the trunk, big and comfortable enough for a person to sit in. Or two people, if they were gettin’ cozy, which is why most young residents of Kepler knew it more commonly as the Kissin’ Tree.

He texts back a quick thumbs up emoji, and pulls his boots on right over his plaid pj bottoms. Nobody’s out this time of night, and it’s warming up enough that the walk will keep him from getting cold. Keys, mini flashlight, coat, and hat – because it feels wrong to go into the Monongahela without it – and he’s out the door, errant springtime leaves soft under his feet once he reaches the edge of the apartment block.

The park smells amazing this time of year, especially at night, when Duck’s other senses are dimmed. He passes through the grove of sugar maples with his eyes closed, not that it makes much difference, just to get that extra bump of their sweet, metallic scent. The flashlight does come in handy when he comes up against a little stream, taking as big of a step as he can manage as to not fuss the lichen growing at its edge. And then, illuminated just barely by the crescent moon, is the Kissin’ Tree, all huge and still and imposing like the air around it is thicker from all the memories it’s been privy to.

A gust of breeze kicks up some leaves and dirt, and then another, and then a heavy _whumph_ echoes from behind him. Duck swings his flashlight around and suffers a minor cardiac arrest when it reflects against two big, red eyes, swallowed up in a fluffy void of black down.

“Aw, hey there,” Duck starts once he catches his breath, tucking his torch back into his pocket, “you didn’t tell me you were going, uh... _all out_ , with the aesthetics. I would’ve dressed nicer.”

Indrid chitters, like an owl crossed with a housecat and a stag beetle, which Duck can’t really define as any particular type of response one way or another, so he just chuckles politely. “Said you had to work off some steam... you want me to keep watch while you fly around like that, or somethin’? Get your mothman pedometer count up?”

This time, Indrid doesn’t make any sound at all, just walks on his strange bow-legs towards and then past Duck, one hand-wing-thing coming out to brush Duck’s cheek affectionately, he assumes, as he continues towards the tree. By the time Duck’s turned around, he’s lost track of him, deep blue-black feathers providing a perfect camouflage in the dark. It’s only a moment that he’s alone, though; a flash of red sparks in his vision, and then Indrid – the normal-er looking version – is before him, adjusting his glasses.

“Evening, Duck!” Indrid calls, and Duck holds up a palm in greeting. “I meant to wait for you, but sometimes... itches have to be scratched. I’m sure you understand.”

Duck doesn’t think he does understand, but he nods anyway, hitching his coat around his shoulders before making his way closer. The fur lining the hood rubs against his neck in a way that feels not dissimilar from Mothman-Indrid’s feather-fingers, and it makes his skin go shivery.

“Yeah, for sure. Hope you’re not expecting me to turn right back around after that hike, though.” He squeezes past Indrid to the seat of the tree, which he barely has to jump to settle himself into, a big change from back when he’d come here as a kid. “Ol’ Duck isn’t quite what he used to be. Gotta rest the legs before I get movin’ again.”

“I think you do just fine for yourself.” Indrid’s smile is as bright and white in the moonlight as it ever was, cheeks lifting his glasses just enough that Duck can see the bags that always sit under his eyes, no matter what. “Besides, I’d never turn down your company, especially on such a nice night. So lovely to spend time out here, now that the winter’s passed.”

Duck can’t help but mirror Indrid’s grin as he leans back into the comfortable arms of the tree. “Not wrong. It’s real nice in the daylight, too. I’ll have to show you this one spot near here that the little baby bunnies get born, it’s some real Snow White shit.”

“I’m capable of hunting just fine, but that’s very sweet of you.”

Duck shoots Indrid a glare that doesn’t quite stick the landing, from the way his bright grin grows even wider, toothier. “ _Dick_. Siddown, you’re creepin’ me out, standing over me like that.”

Indrid pokes his tongue between his teeth, and Duck probably shouldn’t be surprised that it’s forked at the tip, but Duck is so used to being surprised by things that to not be surprised would be even weirder, somehow. Regardless, it’s cute, and makes him even more inclined so scoot over, making what he hopes is enough space in the tree’s little hammock for Indrid’s skinny form.

Indrid has to fold his long limbs in what looks like an incredibly painful manner, but he manages to curl up in a little crescent beside Duck, chin resting on the shoulder of his parka. The way the tree is angled, Duck can see clusters of stars between the gnarled branches, grey-blue clouds moving just fast enough to give him that feeling like he’s spinning at the centre of the universe. Never had a chance to really admire the view in the Kissin’ Tree before, and it’s certainly real nice, but...

“It’s a human tradition - or, I guess, a horny teens of Kepler tradition – to come to this tree to make out.” Duck shifts his weight, feeling suddenly a little bit ridiculous. “Just in case you wanna jot that down for your Earth research.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Duck can see Indrid’s face crack into a smile once again. “Fascinating. Are you an expert in this field, Duck Newton?”

Duck coughs on an inhale, crisp, fragrant night air sitting pleasant in his lungs after a moment. “Wouldn’t say that, necessarily. Depends. What do you think the right amount of expertise would be, because I’d say about that much.”

At some point while he was blabbering, Indrid had shifted closer, his cold nose now pressed against Duck’s neck. “Would one more tip the balance too greatly, do you think?”

Like he’s some dumb teenager all over again, Duck can only shake his head minutely, careful not to bump Indrid’s nose. His companion seems far less dramatic about the whole thing, which puts Duck at ease and gets him riled up with nerves all at once, until Indrid raises up on one bony elbow and plants a cool, soft kiss on the corner of Duck’s lips.

When he moves away, back to the warmth of Duck’s shoulder, Duck can still see the impression of bright red glasses against the deep blue sky, and feel the tickle of soft, downy skin against his face.


End file.
